Surfacing
by Oceans in Hand
Summary: By the Divines he felt old. By what madness, he wondered, had he allowed himself to be snapped up in this? Nightingales, and Daedric princes. Pah. Fem!Dragonborn/Brynjolf.


**Surfacing**

After they'd surfaced and Karliah had left them, the lass began to wrestle with the faceplate, cursing vehemently as only a soldier could. Brynjolf understood. Though once as natural over his face as a weapon on his hip, the armor had become stiffing. The breath built hot and sweating behind it, making one greedy for air.

He pulled her down to his level with a tug to her cloak, rolling with the impact when she settled too fast, too close at his side. All the better to reach, he dismissed, as he swatted her hands away and freed her from the hood.

The lass didn't move from him after he dropped the amor piece into her lap, in fact leaned comfortably onto his arm, gasping cold Skyrim air. Her inhalations were still fast when she clambered to return the favor, limbs clumsy with exhaustion.

Because of it, she moved oddly, let her weight become his to support as she pulled at the winding fabric, discrete fastenings. The closeness of her warmed the metal still protecting his face, and the cold was a shock when it was finally removed. Akeed grinned woozily at him, triumphant. She did not straighten.

Brynjolf allowed it. Her heat was welcome in face of the early morning chill, even if the plates of her cuirass dragged strangely against his.

"'May we quest together again'," She scoffed to his shoulder. Her voice was rough and fatigued, her Redguard accent unusually apparent. "Wonderful, lovely woman. Shit sense of fun."

Brynjolf laughed, startled. She pressed more firmly to him, to not be jostled.

"I might agree with you on that note, lass. Ah, but if I ever see another bloody Falmer in my life…"

He swore he could feel her smile on his neck. A prickle like fingertips, though he couldn't be sure. Couldn't say where her hands were, hadn't known they were on _him_.

It was a gray dawn they'd come into, mercifully dry. There was snow to be seen around, but also plainsland. Riften probably wasn't unmanageably far.

Of course, that stream he could see from their resting place seemed an impossible distance at the moment. His body was leaden, and by the Divines he felt old. By what madness, he wondered, had he allowed himself to be snapped up in this? Nightingales, and Daedric princes. Pah.

But it was amazing what a sweet thing curled up at one's side could do for a man, and there were few as sweet as his lass. Though that delightful eagerness had begun to leave her ages ago, in it's place Brynjolf saw woman's magic, despite his efforts to remain oblivious. More than her share, he sometimes thought.

When he'd invited her into his home, and asked after a thieving Redguard woman, he'd been told tales of a temptress who robbed in her smallclothes and lay with those who caught her for pardon. He hadn't quite been able to match that woman with the young, inordinately skilled little thing he'd first approached. Still couldn't quite.

Progress had been made when she appeared in the Flagon, gore-splattered and exhilarated, in answer to his challenge. More with every completed job. But still…not…quite...

He could feel her. Couldn't not. Her breast moved into him with every breath she took, and her arms were draped heavily on him. Brynjolf wanted nothing more than to shove her onto her back and pull her-

"I always loved it when you called me lass, you know."

Brynjolf fumbled for a moment for a reply, so thoroughly derailed. He hadn't the heart to tell her it wasn't a special name…though, perhaps it was.

There were lasses, and there was _his_ lass, after all.

The saber cat smile she turned up at him did nothing to dispel the heat gathering in him.

"Is it true," he began slowly. "that you robbed in your skivvies?"

"Heard those stories, did you?"

There was, in her eye, a similar fire kindling.

It wasn't really a question, nonetheless. "Aye," he said, mouth dry.

Akeed hummed, looking down to the stream. She licked her lips.

He didn't attempt to hide how his gaze tracked the motion. "Well lass, shall we be on our way?"

He wanted to. But the ground was frozen hard and the wind coming down the mountain cool and unkind. A lover deserved better. Brynjolf too, for that matter. The grassy areas around Riften, well...Those were negotiable. In the meantime home was a long trek away, but the day was just beginning, and his lass seemed set to make the hike with him. Mayhap they could settle some matters along the journey.


End file.
